Out of the four planes I was on this weekend, I was twice in the exit row. That's a lot of pressure. I'd like to think I'd be all calm in an emergency situation, but I'm sure I'd probably wet myself and run around crying.

In all reality though, have you ever heard of the emergency row person coming through in an emergency? I've never seen a news story that said something like, "That plane surely would have been doomed and all 150 people on board would have perished, if not for the quick thinking fellow in the exit row."

There was a baby on the plane that cried for about an hour and a half yesterday, and at first I felt bad for the thing, because you never know if it was going through some inner ear pain or shit like that, but after ten minutes, I really wanted to punt that baby out the cockpit. Thank God for headphones and the rock and roll that came out of said headphones and into my noggin.

It's odd sometimes to fly back from vacation and look at New York, because there was this one time I went on vacation back in September of 2001 and there were two really big buildings that were missing when I got back. Considering the only newspaper I picked up this weekend was the Telluride Daily Planet, all I really knew about was that there was a bear that wandered into the local park and some team won the softball championship. So something big might have happened, but I wouldn't have known. It's pretty sad that when I look at the skyline now, I think to myself, "OK, Empire State Building -- check; Chrysler Building -- check."

Fucking terrorists. And that shoe bomber. Oh man, do I hate that guy. I had to take my shoes off at security for the first flight I got on, and if you've never smelled my feet, you are a lucky person. My feet smell like popcorn, but not in a good way. Normally if people smell popcorn, it's like, "Oooh, is that popcorn?" With my feet, it's like, "Oh my Lord, is that popcorn?! Oh, that is fucking terrible!" My feet could be considered weapons of mass destruction.